


As we Dance Among the Stars

by orphan_account



Category: Video Blogging RPF
Genre: 90s au?, Alternate Universe, Angst, Cigarettes, Crying, Everyone Needs A Hug, Falling In Love, Hurt No Comfort, Hurt/Comfort, I'm Sorry, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Near Death Experiences, Period-Typical Homophobia, a lot of it, this hurt to write
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-13
Updated: 2021-01-20
Packaged: 2021-03-18 02:22:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,676
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28735680
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: George can feel the heat of the room. It curls the ends of his hair and makes his skin flush red. Or maybe that’s just the closeness of the man he’s dancing with. He can hear himself laugh and stumble over his feet. It’s like he’s a spectator in his own mind. He isn’t the one controlling himself. He’s an outsider. All he can do is watch.Or: George is lonely. And it's that kind of loneliness that crawls inside you and claws at your throat, punching through your lungs until you can't breathe. It's painful and it makes his stomach twist into knots. It hurts.
Relationships: Clay | Dream & GeorgeNotFound & Sapnap (Video Blogging RPF), Clay | Dream & Sapnap (Video Blogging RPF), Clay | Dream/GeorgeNotFound (Video Blogging RPF), GeorgeNotFound & Karl Jacobs, Karl Jacobs & Sapnap
Comments: 9
Kudos: 17





	1. Perfect Places

**Author's Note:**

> hi !! :) welcome to the fanfic !! this first chapter is pretty short, but i'm hoping the next ones will be longer. for context, this is taking place maybe early 90s? this chapter was loosely based off of the song 'perfect places' by lorde, hence the chapter name. i would recommend listening to it if you're interested. anyway !! to the story you go !!

The music and the party slides a fuzzy film over his eyes. The alcohol makes his throat ache and his blood boil in his veins. He can feel the hand on his waist slide to his back, up to his shoulder blades. The touch is soft, but it _burns_. Everything is on fire. The green eyes that stare into his own are ringed with orange flames. A cigarette is perched dangerously between chapped lips. George swallows, watching the ash fall like snow. He watches the breath of smoke, fade into the night around them. He stares at freckled shoulders and long, blonde hair. 

George can feel the heat of the room. It curls the ends of his hair and makes his skin flush red. Or maybe that’s just the closeness of the man he’s dancing with. He can hear himself laugh and stumble over his feet. It’s like he’s a spectator in his own mind. He isn’t the one controlling himself. He’s an outsider. All he can do is watch. _God he’s so drunk._ He watches as he takes the man’s hand, dragging him to the door and towards the balcony. Florida’s damn pretty at night. Especially when it feels like they’re untouchable. They’re stuck in their own world, far from the wandering eyes of anyone passing by. Well, that’s what it feels like. In reality, they’re in a sweaty bar, cheap disco lights blinking on the ceiling. The smell of beer and sticky countertops. 

It’s… exhilarating.

The man is tall. Long legs and arms. His shoulders are broad, covered in splotches of brown freckles. His eyes are green-blue, with eyelashes that cast shadows onto his cheeks in the light. He’s young. Maybe twenty one. Hardly legal to be in a bar like this. But George isn’t one to complain. It’s not like he’s much older anyway. His hair is dirty-blonde. Too long and too messy, but it suits him, nonetheless. As the night goes on, soft bits of it fall down into his eyes. It’s endearing really. And it feels like they’ve been dancing for hours. Maybe they have been. The moon shines onto their faces and casts shadows across the floor. 

“You’ve never danced before have you?” the man murmurs softly, flicking his now burnt out cigarette to the ground. George makes an indignant noise and the man laughs, pulling George’s hands from his sides. “Here. One hand on my waist. One up on my shoulder.” they sway like that for a while, before he lifts his hand and twirls George to one side. “You don’t talk much either, do you?” George shrugs.

“I guess not. Not really,” he speaks slowly. As not to slur so much. But he’s too drunk and the man laughs softly. They fall into a comfortable silence. The man’s hands are warm and smooth in his own. “What- why are you here? In this bar?” George asks quietly. 

“Why not? Why are you here? In this bar?” 

“Why not?” George answers, feeling pleased with himself. The man snorts, letting out a small wheeze of a laugh. He pulls the shorter boy in and holds his hand gently in his own. 

“Touché. Touché.” he pauses for a moment, before speaking. “I’m here to live my life. To get drunk and smoke and take home someone pretty.” he flashes George a smirk, pulling his hair between his fingers and letting it fall forward to frame his face. George clears his throat and looks at his feet. 

“Am- Am I someone pretty?” if this were any other situation. Any other place. With anyone else, George would have been bright red and muttering apologies by now. But he feels _confident_. So he stares up at blue-green eyes laced with fire and stands his ground. 

“I don’t know, are you? Maybe I need a bit more _time_ to decide.” the blonde leans forward, lips ghosting the shell of George’s ear. “One more dance. And then maybe I can decide.” 

“Have we not danced enough for your liking? The sun is starting to come up.” George can hear a low, breathy laugh in his ear and he closes his eyes. Everything feels so addictive. He feels greedy. He wants everything he can’t have. And the sun might as well have started to rise because everything is hot. It all feels so hot and it’s like he’s still bursting into flames every step he takes. Every twirl and step and move is leaving black scorch marks on the wooden floor. 

How much longer has passed? George doesn’t know. He doesn’t want to know. He wants this to last. He _needs_ it to last. How many more drinks has he had? He can feel himself tripping over his feet and giggling like he’s sixteen again. There’s a hand resting on his waist and a hand guiding him gently. There’s a bright red truck and- and- nothing. _Black_. Darkness. 

____________

George groans, throwing an arm over his face. His head is pounding and everything feels heavy. His limbs feel too big and his breaths feel too labored. He stares at his cracked ceiling and blinks himself fully awake. The events from the night before swim lazily in his mind. He rubs at his eyes and swings his legs over the side of his bed, sighing. He runs a hand through his hair and makes his way to the bathroom, turning on the tap and letting it run. 

“Fuck,” he mutters, looking at the deep, purple shadows under his eyes. He feels exhausted. He looks awful. And the room is tilting. He feels dizzy. Like the world has spun off its axis and fallen deep into space. He rests his hands on the chipped sink and lets out a low sigh. All he can see is the soft green eyes and the wheeze of a laugh. He tries to erase it from his mind, but he can see them burning so brightly. They were untouchable. They fit together. But George shakes his head and splashes water into his face. He scrubs under his eyes as if he can erase the dark circles of sleep. 

A knock on the door brings George out of his head and he straightens up, clearing his throat. “Can- Can I come in?” a voice calls. _Shit_. He forgot about his roommate. Normally that’s impossible, but George wasn’t thinking. 

“Just give me a second.” he switches off the tap and thinks of a million lies that could cover up what he was doing yesterday. He was… at a last minute work party? He was out writing late and someone offered to take him home? He feels a spark of panic seize his chest and he shakes out his hands, squeezing them into fists against his chest. Karl will look straight through him. Oh fuck. He’s done for. It’s over. He’ll have to move out. He’ll live on the street. He’ll be alone. He’ll- “Calm down, George.” he hisses quietly, gripping a hand over his pounding heart. 

“You ok? I’m going to open the door, George.” it creaks open and Karl peeks his head around, a wobbly smile pressed to his face. It falls slightly once he looks at him closely. But he puts it back and straightens up, looking George in the eye. “You came home pretty late last night.” he says softly. 

“Yeah. I- Yeah.” they stare at each other until Karl raises an eyebrow, crossing his arms. He knows. He knows. He knows. He knows. George can feel his mind going hundreds of miles per minute. He fidgets, twisting his fingers between his hands and tapping his fingers against his leg anxiously. The lights still feel far too bright against his eyes and the room is still moving slightly. He focuses on a tile on the floor, waiting for Karl to say something. Pry him apart. Look angry. But he just sighs and shakes his head. He looks disappointed.

“I was worried about you. I didn’t know where you were. You told me you’d stop. Last time he came home this late, you- George. I was really scared.” _Oh_. That’s what this is about. Not the fact that George fell in love with a random stranger he danced with for a few hours. A male random stranger. But no it’s about this. “George, you told me you’d stop drinking. I don’t want to have to go looking for you again.” Karl says again, leaning on the doorframe.

“I know, Karl. I’m sorry. I- I won’t do it again, alright? I promise. I’m sorry.” he can feel his chest tightening and he plays it off like he’s annoyed. Like he’s angry that Karl cares. That he doesn’t want him to. That he’s fine without him. He isn’t, but he’s not weak. He can handle himself.

“Sure, George. Who took you home, anyway? I didn’t see them that well.” George sighs, shrugging and pushing past Karl. “You don’t know, do you, George? _George_. George!” Karl pulls at his shoulder until he turns around. 

“What?” he snaps. He pauses, dragging a tired hand down his face. “Karl, please. I’m fine. I’ll stop- going out and drinking, ok? You don’t have to worry about me.” he forces a smile onto his face, but it probably looks like he’s breaking inside. Like it’s splitting him apart. But Karl just nods and grabs his keys. 

“I’m going out.” the door slams behind him and he’s gone. George scrambles to his room. He digs through the blankets crumpled on his bed and finds the jacket he was wearing the night before. A navy blue letterman. He fishes through the pockets for something. _Anything_ to prove that it wasn’t all a dream. He comes up with a crumpled napkin and a few fuzzy mints. He tosses them aside and smooths out the napkin. There’s a smudge of brown and George can barely make out the words “Bar and Club”. He shuts his eyes and tried to remember the building. The name. He can see neon blue lights and back alleys and a faint outline of a name swims into focus. 

_“Charlie’s?” George muttered to himself, flashing the man at the door his ID. He wrinkled his nose at the scent of cheap beer and weed._

“Charlie’s. Shit.” he bends down and pulls on his Converse, lacing them up halfway. He shrugs on his jacket and scribbles something out messily for Karl to find later. He doesn’t even care anymore. Karl can fuck off. He felt happy for the first time last night. He can’t throw it away for him. So he doesn’t. He needs this. And he crosses his fingers and _hopes_ that the man is back. That he’s there again. For George.


	2. Space Boy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dream and George meet again :)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter mentions death/dying/a lot of smoking so click off if that triggers you :) stay safe

This is stupid. This is horribly stupid and all George feels is his face burning bright red. What if they recognize him? Ask him why he’s back  _ again _ . He leans against the crumbling brick wall and stuffs his hands into his pockets. He can’t do this. He can’t do this. He’ll find a payphone and get Karl to pick him up.  _ Shit _ , he can't do that. Karl would be pissed at him. He’s always pissed at him, but this would make it so much worse. He wipes his sweaty palms against his jeans and flattens down his hair. And he decides to brave the unknown. He pushes himself up and stands at the back of the three person line. 

He stands in the corner of the room, arms crossed and eyes squeezed shut. He feels like an idiot. His drink has gone warm and he’s uncomfortable in his too-tight jeans. He feels out of place. Like he shouldn’t be here. Everything feels wrong. Until the music slows and something nudges his leg slightly. His eyes fly open and he’s staring at long blonde hair and freckles. 

“You’re back,” George whispers, almost as if he doesn’t want him to hear. But of course he does. And he laughs. God, it’s like everything’s a puzzle and the last piece has been fit in. 

“I’m back,” he says quietly and pulls George by the hand, his smile drawing him in. Pulling him through a dark hole and appearing on the other side, bright as the sun and soft as the damn moon. “I didn’t think I’d get to see you again. I didn’t even get to tell you my name.” and it all feels so familiar as they sway, faces illuminated by the lights above. 

“I had to come back.” George says, winding his fingers in the edge of the man’s shirt. He can feel the burning heat of a cigarette that’s brushing too close to his face. He can feel the way his breath gets caught in his throat whenever he twirls the man under his arm. “I had to,” he repeats slowly. Like he's making a promise to himself. And he is. He’s known this man for a few hours. He doesn’t even know his name, but he feels something. It’s exciting and scary and  _ new _ . 

“I know you did. I know,” his breath washes softly over George’s ear as the world shatters around them. His freckles glow and his nose is pink, lips pursed around a burnt out cigarette. His hair shines like a halo around his head as he moves his feet gracefully. And it’s as if he’s had lots of practice before. Maybe he has. George can picture him as a dancer. 

“What’s your name?” 

“They call me Dream.”George tests it in his head.  _ Dream _ . It fits. “What about yours, Space Boy?” 

“Space Boy?” Dream points to the NASA patch on his jacket and George smiles, tracing a thumb over the thread that Karl used to stitch it for him. “Um, George. Th-that’s my name. George.” 

“Hm,” they’re silent for a while, before Dream cracks it with a gentle laugh. “No, I think Space Boy suits you better. If you’d like me to call you George, then speak now.”

“Or forever hold your peace.” George finishes for him. 

The night is warm. And George can feel the music coursing through him and he decides that he doesn’t care anymore. So he pulls Dream out of the stuffy bar and onto the sidewalks of Orlando. They run down the streets, whispering like kids and holding hands like teenagers. The backstreets are disgusting in the light. Full of drugs and trash and hurt, but in the dark shadows of night? With Dream? It’s  _ perfect _ . They’re perfect. Everything is solved and George can forget about his shitty life in his shitty job in a cramped office. And he can pretend that every night is like this. It might be the alcohol talking, but he doesn’t care anymore. He can’t bring himself to care about the morning. Or anything else for that matter. All he cares about is  _ Dream. Dream. Dream _ . 

“I know a place, come on.” George murmurs softly, lacing their fingers together and they float. They’re floating on a high of the party and a new kind of energy they’ve found from each other. Through dark city streets and past moonlit parks. And it feels like they’ve been gone for ages. Days and months and years. George knows where he’s going. It felt right to go here. Somewhere he came when he was new to the city. When he had just moved from England into his apartment with a roommate he hardly knew. He felt so lonely. They stop at the bridge, stretched across a rushing highway. Not the most peaceful of places. But it’s real. It feels  _ real _ . Rough and crumbling and real. 

“This is the place?” Dream asks, leaning over the railing and staring down at the cars below. George hooks a leg up and pulls himself so he’s sitting on top of the rusted metal, feet hanging dangerously above what could be death if he fell. 

“Yeah, this is the place.” the blonde grips George’s arm and sits next to him, eyes shut. “Heights?” George asks quietly, letting him grab his hand. 

“Falling,” Dream says, eyes squinting open and he stares down at how close they are to dying. He could jump off and he’d be gone in moments. He’d drag George down with him and they could find each other in the world after life. But he blinks himself back to reality and stares down at brown eyes. Then, it feels as if the world hushes around them as Dream grabs the front of George’s shirt between his fingers.

The first thing George notices is that when they break apart, his eyes are still wide open. It feels awkward to close them now. He brushes a hand over his lips and he’s glad it’s too dark to see the pink crawling up his neck. Dream laughs airily, reaching into his back pocket and pulling out a lighter. He seems more comfortable on the railing. Hanging above the cars whizzing past. He cups the flame and hands George a cigarette, lighting it swiftly. 

“I’ve, um, I’ve never done it before.” George whispers, feeling the heat on his fingers. 

“Kissed anyone?” Dream responds nonchalantly, exhaling gray smoke against the black blanket of sky. George stiffens, turning red. 

“No! No. No.  _ Smoked _ . I’ve never done it.” the blonde snorts out a laugh, shaking his head. He pokes George on the knee and grins, plucking the cigarette from his hand.

“I’m joking, Space Boy. Don’t be so nervous. Come here, you want to try?” Dream shifts slightly, cupping George’s jaw in his hand. He inhales and holds it, leaning forward. He presses their lips together and coaxes his mouth open, letting the smoke slide through. “Now hold it as best you can and then exhale.” George coughs, choking on the bitter edge of the blade of gray. 

“Shit, how do you do that so easily?” 

“Practice, Space Boy. Practice. It’s not so hard after a while.” they fall into a silence. And it’s one of those silences where it’s not  _ bad _ . It's just- silent. And the night settles around them as the moon hangs low in the sky. Stars swim across the darkness, so meaningless and empty as they float in space. But George almost wishes he could swing among them, dancing over them and showering the Earth with light. 

____________

George kisses Dream on the cheek at his apartment door, keys in hand. He gives him a soft goodbye and he lets himself inside. Immediately, he knows he’s made a mistake. He knows something’s wrong and he  _ knows _ . He just- he knows. 

“Where the fuck have you been?” it isn’t Karl this time. Another friend. Someone who cares too much about George. Someone who worries too much about him. Someone who shouldn’t. George drops onto the couch, shrugging. “Don’t do this to me, George. Don’t do this  _ to us _ .” 

“Alex please, I’m fine. Look, I’m fine. I’m not a child, I can take care of myself.” he’s sober now. He can’t feel the high anymore. It’s all gone and he’s just tired. Tired and annoyed. Even the happy, coasting feeling he had with Dream has just disappeared. 

“I can’t believe you. I honestly can’t believe you. Karl is so worried. You know how he gets. You haven't done this in so long. Why are you starting now? I thought you got better. You’re so- You’re so selfish, George.” Alex swallows, brushing past George and into the hall. He’s always been that one friend who cares about everyone. Who puts everyone before him and loves everyone unconditionally. So it  _ hurts _ that George is hurting him. Him and Karl. But he can’t bring himself to care anymore. So he doesn’t. He decides at that moment that he’s going to stop caring. 

It’s past one or two in the morning and he’s on the couch, open bottle in hand. Everything feels fuzzy, but it’s not the good kind of fuzzy. It’s the sick kind. He feels sick to his stomach and his head hurts. Everything’s wrong now. Everything’s been messed up but he still can’t bring himself to care about it. To do something about it. Because why should he? Why should he care about what Karl wants for him? He’s not him. He’s- He shoves it away. But somewhere in the back of George’s mind, he knows he’s wrong.

He’s laughing at nothing. He’s full of laughter that’s directed at no one and he feels light-headed. His chest is shaking and suddenly everything is a joke. Everything’s so fucking funny. And he’s sure the whole world can hear George Davidson drunk laughing in his living room. And they’ll look at him with fucking  _ pity _ . The world will look down at him because he’s drunk laughing in his living room because a boy with long blonde hair and freckles kissed him at midnight. 

George sighs, watching the sky turn bright through the window. The apartment feels so quiet. Not the same without Karl shouting at him in the kitchen or Alex barging in at eight in the morning, demanding relationship advice. He’s broken the routine he fell into every day, but to his alcohol-soaked brain, it feels good to be out of it. Good to feel happy and real and alive again. It feels like he’s finally back. Like he can drink again and party again and feel human once more. 

Alex leaves without saying goodbye, pulling on his hat and slamming the door behind him. George ignores it. He’s good at that. Yeah, he's getting really good at that.  He shoves it away and sighs, rubbing at his eyes. He’s so fucking tired. The drink and the lack of sleep mix in his brain until he’s gripping the edge of the sink, heels of his hands pressed against his face. So he stumbles down the hall and into his room, falling asleep to the sounds of the city waking up outside. The cars and the trucks and the people hurrying to work. To school. To start their days. And he’s- he’s sleeping off cheap wine and cigarette smoke. 

**Author's Note:**

> my twitter is twitter.com/nutmegmoo if you're interested. i'm always open to writing suggestions if you have any !!


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